Legions of the Eagle Read online

  “What is that, mother?” asked Gwydion, breathless with excitement now.

  “She will have flung a sharp knife through the window of the hut where the Romans are imprisoned. It is then their task to cut a way out through the weakest part of the thatch and make their escape. There are three fast horses tethered outside the stockade, near their prison. It will then be their own affair.”

  Gwydion said, “Three horses, mother? Who is going with them then?”

  His mother looked at him searchingly. “Who but you, my son?” she said. “You would be breaking no oath, for you have not made one. Go with them, take the oath to their Caesar and try to make a good, orderly world for men to live in.”

  She took Gwydion’s hand then and he saw that her eyes were filling with tears. “I could not leave you, mother,” he said.

  She smiled at him through her tears. “My son,” she said,

  “let me be a little of the Roman, too. I order you to go this night, if your friends are fortunate enough to cut their way out before the others return. I have waited long enough to see you again, I can wait a little while longer. One day, and perhaps soon, I believe that Rome will make an end of this man, Caratacus; and then we shall be free to live together again, under one roof; free to try and make a new life for ourselves in an ordered world. You must go, so as to make this home for me. Have no fear, I will find you, wherever you are,” As she said these last words, the cry of the screech-owl sounded close outside the hut, “Be ready, now,” she whispered. “Lead them northwards towards the country of Madog of the Ordovices. He is a friend of Rome, I hear, and will give you shelter until you can go to the Roman officer in charge of the new garrison at Vricon.”

  Then she felt within her long gown and held something out to her son. “Take this,” she said. “It was your father’s.”

  Gwydion looked down at the object which she held out to him, glistening in the torchlight. It was his father’s ceremonial hunting knife, a splendid long weapon, of hardened iron, its jade handle set with arabesques of beaten gold, its pommel a piece of red coral, carved into the shape of an acorn. It lay there in his hand, glinting viciously in the light; and as he grasped it, a new sensation of power came upon him. Now he felt like the son of his brave father, a son who would not abandon his true friends, who would not bow the knee to any tyrant, of whatever blood he might be.

  Gwydion knelt and took up the hem of his mother’s gown and put it to his lips in homage. “Goodbye, dear mother,” he said, “I shall obey you; and one day when the world is kinder we shall come together in happiness again.”

  Then he rose and turned from her, for he feared to look into her face again, lest her tears should dissuade him from his strong, new purpose. He wrapped his cloak about him and walked to. the door. But even as his hand went out to open it, the door swung open and Math stood there, his chest rising and falling with exertion, a broad streak of blood across his face and down his neck. In his right hand he carried something which he held by the hair, long red hair, something which still dripped to the wooden floor. Gwydion stared at the severed head, horrified, dumb. Math was the first to speak. “It was a short fight, Gwydion,” he said. “I have brought this trophy for my foster-mother. An offering to a brave mother from a warrior-son.”

  Gwydion saw the distaste in his gentle mother’s face. He was suddenly angry with Math, in a different way from anything he had known before. He said, “Throw that thing outside, you barbarian!”

  Math looked down at him with a sneer across his lips. “Oho! my friend,” he said, “are you already so much the Roman that you dare call me barbarian?”

  Gwydion knew now that Gracchus and Gaius must have cut their way through the wall. There was no time to lose if he was to ride with them. He decided not to antagonise Math any longer. Instead, he forced himself to smile and made as though to pass through the door.

  “Where are you going, Gwydion?” said the other, standing in his path,

  Gwydion looked over his shoulder into the night, and saw that already the war-band of Caratacus was returning. The flames of their torches shone here and there on the hillside, approaching swiftly; and the sound of their victory songs came louder and louder across the wall of the stockade. Gwydion said, “I go to meet Caratacus, friend. Stay and speak with my mother until I return,”

  But Math’s eyes narrowed. He said, “Where you go, there will I go too, my Roman friend! I think you might need an escort if you walk abroad this night!”

  Math set down the head of the Irish pirate and made to link his arm in Gwydion’s. Then the mother spoke, anxiously, almost beseechingly; “Math, my son,” she said, “let Gwydion go. Think of your old friendship with him, and let him go, for my sake. I beg it, Math.”

  But the young man, fired with his new victory, said to her in a dangerous voice, “Mother, Caratacus will punish traitors, whoever they may be. I go with Gwydion for the safety of his spirit!”

  Now Gwydion saw that this was a hopeless situation, for Math was so far under the domination of the Belgic king that he had brushed aside all other ties. Math must be treated like any enemy, for he was dangerous as one. Gwydion gave him one more chance. “Math,” he said, “for the sake of our old friendship, let me go.”

  Math turned on him with a grim smile, “So, there is some trickery afoot!” he said triumphantly, and his hand went down to the bull’s horn that slung from his broad belt. Gwydion could afford to waste no time; for now he knew that Math would betray both his mother and himself to Caratacus, in spite of their old comradeship. Gwydion leaned sideways, catching the slighter-built boy round the neck, and then, thrusting out his hip, he flung the other on to the hard floor, kneeling on him immediately and pressing the point of the hunting-knife to his throat. Gwydion saw, with some grim satisfaction, that his mother had moved forward to shut the door, so that the struggle might not be witnessed by the homecoming war-band.

  Then he had no time to notice anything else, for Math was struggling hard to throw him off, and was trying to set the horn to his lips, even though he lay prostrate. With a sharp kick, Gwydion drove the hand that held the horn away, and pressed down with such force that the breath was knocked from Math’s body.

  “Is there a cord, mother?” he gasped. “If we could tie him, I need not silence him any other way.”

  The woman began to tear strips from her linen gown, but before she could bring them to Gwydion, Math swung upwards with a great effort and opened his mouth to shout. Gwydion acted instantly, like a nervous animal, and struck the prince a blow on the temple with the coral haft of his knife. Math’s head nodded and his eyes rolled back. He fell to the floor again and was silent.

  Now the first of the victorious war-party began to file through the stockade gates. Gwydion looked at his mother anxiously. “Mother,” he said, “this has changed the situation. You could not stay here now, for Math is so crazed by fear of Caratacus, he would betray you. Now he has to avenge the blow I have given him. You must come with me.”

  She gasped and said, “Go, go, son, and leave me. I could not run. I should hold you back.”

  Math was beginning to stir. Gwydion forced himself to strike him again, just hard enough to daze him once more. Then he grasped his mother’s cloak and almost dragged her to the door. Once outside, he linked his arm in hers, smiled to a warrior who was staggering past the hut, his sword still dripping, and commented loudly how fine the night was for a walk round the stockade. Then, turning behind the hut into the shadow and away from the camp-fires, he pulled his mother towards the isolated prison-hut, just in time to see the dark shape of Gracchus clambering over the stakes. He called out softly to the Roman, who hesitated and then recognised him.

  “Gracchus, my friend,” whispered Gwydion, “Lean down and help my mother over too. I will try to raise her from this side.”

  It was something of a struggle, for Gracchus was exhausted from the long journey they had but recently made, and the sudden climb over this stockade had not been an
easy exercise for such an elderly man as he was* Nevertheless, after some straining and panting, Gwydion’s mother was sitting on the other side of the tall fence, begging them to go on and leave her. Then they heard the warning blasts of the horn, and knew that Math was beginning the hue-and-cry.

  Gwydion almost dragged his mother to her feet and set her on the quietest of the horses; then he and Gaius mounted the other, leaving the third for the centurion, who was a heavily built man.

  Even as they clapped heels to their horses’ flanks, the torches flared inside the stockade, and Gwydion saw a stream of men running towards the gate nearest to where the horses had stood.

  An arrow whistled through the air, falling short; then another, and another, this time well within range, and too close to be treated lightly. “We must ride now, mother,” he said, “or this will be the end of the journey for us all!” And then, leading the way through the darkness, he struck his pony so hard on the neck with the scabbard of his knife that the wiry little beast leapt forward with the shock and plunged straightway down the rough and winding path that led towards the river.

  Gwydion turned once and saw that his mother rode next, and that Gracchus was in the rear. Gaius hung on to Gwydion’s belt, gasping with the sudden exertion, but glad in his heart at last to be away from that place of cruelty, that home of treachery.

  Then the sound of horses’ hooves came to them from the darkness on the hillside above, and with no thought of sparing their mounts, the escaping riders rammed their heels hard into their straining flanks and scarcely dared to think of what lay before them now.

  Then, less than a mile away, they saw the great river before them, and at the same time heard their pursuers closing in behind them. “We shall never reach that river, my friend,” said Gaius. “But at least we shall try!”

  Gwydion said, “Gaius, I have my father’s knife now. I shall take one of them with me at least before this ride is done!”

  Part Four

  1. THE CAVE ON THE HILL

  Then, without warning, a flight of arrows buzzed through the darkness behind them, drawn at a venture by their pursuers. At first the boys thought that their party had escaped harm. Then their own pony shuddered beneath them, and stumbled, throwing them headlong on to the rocky path, and rolling over, a murderous shaft piercing his side. Neither boy was injured by the fall, yet now their situation was desperate for already they heard their followers approaching along the hard causeway.

  “Mount my horse,” said the mother, reining beside them; but the centurion would have none of this. He leaped to the ground and flung his reins towards Gwydion. “Mount,” he said, “and see your mother safely over the stream. Be assured, I shall not be long behind you.” Then he turned and disappeared into the night, running towards their pursuers.

  There was nothing to be done. Gwydion wanted to join the brave Roman, but there was no time for heroics now. He hoisted Gaius into the saddle this time, and, taking his mother’s bridle, ran between the two horses towards the river.

  There they paused for a moment, on the rocky bank, then they forced their horses into the stream and made a courageous start at least to the crossing. At first the water swirled up about them, almost dragging Gwydion under, but he held tightly to the bridles, and encouraged the frightened horses to battle against the current.

  The water was so icy cold that Gwydion’s teeth chattered and after a while his limbs became numb; yet there was nothing to be done about such discomfort. The party had to keep going, using every ounce of strength against the sweep of the river.

  Once Gwydion’s fingers slipped from Gaius’s bridle, and he almost fell, helpless, in the middle of the torrent, but Gaius leaned over and supported him, thrusting his arm beneath Gwydion’s armpits and hanging on to him until the boy had found a new hold. And once Gwydion’s mother, caught by a sudden onrush of the current, almost slipped from the saddle; but her sturdy Silurian pony bucked and curvetted in the water so gamely against the stream that she was flung back, and then clung tightly to the creature’s neck, her reins now abandoned.

  Thus, at length, dripping and chilled to the marrow, they found themselves wading through the rocky shallows at the far side of the river, the dread water crossed. When they had mounted the grass-grown bank above the stream, they halted, staring into the blackness from which they had just come. It seemed that there were shouts and cries from the other side, but in the darkness and with a strong night-wind blowing across to the east, it was impossible to be sure that the sounds they heard were those of men, and not of some prowling creatures of the night, such as frequented this misty area of marshland and woods.

  Then, when they had given up hope and felt sure that they would never see the brave Roman again, Gaius, peering across the water, shouted, “Someone is coming! Yes, a horseman; it is my father!”

  In spite of his numbed limbs, he ran down to the river bank again as his father’s horse stumbled out of the water on the slippery rocks. The centurion was shivering with cold, but he smiled as he came up to them. Gwydion saw that the front of his tunic was tom and smeared with blood. The centurion said, “That was an unlucky slash from a long sword— but it has only broken the skin, my lad! Have no fear for me! Come on, they are afraid to ride into the river as yet, for it is one of their gods and they must pray to it for permission before they dare follow us. That will give us a little time.” Gaius said, “You have got yourself a fine horse, father! Did the owner give you his permission!”

  The Romans laughed, and even Gwydion’s mother joined in, amused at the boy’s irony in such a desperate situation. The centurion said, “Two of them over there will not need horses again. I took the strongest-looking beast, and I can tell you, he is a good swimmer! A real horse for a heavy man, such as I am!”

  Gwydion said, “How did you do it, Gracchus?”

  The centurion laughed; “An old trick,” he said. “I waited for them and rolled a boulder down the path among the horses as they galloped in the darkness. The first one went down, and some of the others on top of him. They were galloping so fast that they could not stop. I do not think they even knew what had happened. Then I was amongst them, finding another steed for myself, and trying to put paid to an enemy or two. I can tell you, in a desperate fight, a handy boulder is as good as anything! Especially if you are struggling in the dark. A sword is so clumsy when you can’t see what you are doing with it—but a good round stone can be used at close quarters, and you do not find it difficult to locate the target with such a weapon!”

  Then he stiffened and listened. “Come,” he said, “we waste precious time. I think that their prayers are over now. I can hear them shouting for our blood!”

  Once more the riders mounted and turned their horses’ heads to the north. If they kept the river always to their left hand and the thick woodland to their right, they must, if the gods were kind to them, come at last to the territory of Madog of the Ordovices. But that was three days’ riding before them—and not one of that band felt sure in his heart that they would ever see Madog and his friendly tribesmen. Now the going was a little better, for there was a road of sorts that ran in the direction they followed, though here and there it was broken by little tributary streams, or even by stretches of river marshland. All the same, their horses were now able to set a good pace, and after a while the sodden clothes that covered the backs of the fugitives did not seem quite so chilly, and the blood began to race in their veins again with the swift movement through the night.

  Every few miles they stopped for a space, largely to let Gwydion’s mother stretch her limbs, for she was unused to riding for any distance, though always she protested that they were treating her like a child, that they seemed to forget she was the widow of a warrior and the mother of a warrior-to-be, by the look of him! The centurion now knew her well enough to tease her a little, though he did this with all courtesy and respect, for he recognised in her those fine qualities of endurance which his people prized so highly and thought that
they alone possessed.

  Then, when their spirits were mounting and they had almost come to believe that their pursuers had abandoned the search, Gwydion put up his hand for silence, and through the mists, from a great distance, they heard distinctly the long wailing of a horn, the signal that their enemies were now on their track once more. The centurion said, “We have a good start. Let us gallop on for another few miles, and then, if the opportunity occurs, let us turn off from the road. We may find a suitable place where we can hide. Then they can ride on to Ultima Thule for all we care!”

  After half an hour, the woodland to their right thinned out a little and the land there became rocky again, and rose towards some gaunt hills. As they reached this spot, the centurion swung his horse in the direction of the rough slope, and they followed him, for now he was their leader. Once, as they were walking beside their horses when the going was difficult, the sound of the horn came to them again, and they even thought that the noise of hooves was wafted on the breeze to them. They must not delay now, they thought, and after a struggle, gained what seemed to be the summit of the first hill. While the centurion stayed with the party, Gwydion went round the peak of the hill to search for a resting-place. He came back after a short space and said that he had found a cave, away from the road, where they might shelter both themselves and the horses, for it was important that their beasts should not be observed from the road.

  The centurion was delighted with the place. It would even be possible to light a fire there, he said, without being seen— if only they had flint and tinder. Now Gwydion’s mother smiled at them,

  “You warriors are very strong and brave,” she said, “but you are not always thoughtful. Now a woman is always prepared for such occasions!” She opened the pouch which she wore at her belt and took out an ivory tinder-box, wrapped round with a length of doe-skin. It had escaped the waters of the river, and after the boys had gathered a heap of bracken and branches, the centurion was able to strike the spark which set the fire alight.